THANK YOU.

_____________________________________________

This might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.

A disclaimer on a container of chocolate milk THAT SAYS IT CONTAINS MILK.

Happy Friday.

(My co-worker brought his two year-old into the office today, and it’s incredibly hard for me to concentrate when what I really want to do is run around with her and play princess and be silly for a while.)

I don’t know what I’ll do with my parents. There’s no good way to approach it without creating tension between my sister and I or making my parents feel guilty. And while I think they should feel a little guilty, I don’t really believe they’re doing it on purpose. (But it doesn’t make me feel any better.) And it doesn’t change the fact that a 23 year-old has complete control of her parents, and gets whatever she wants whenever she wants it by acting like a spoiled little tyrant. I just don’t like my sister, and if I told them that, there’s no way for them to be totally hurt.

I’m not sure where things with Kay are headed. When I got to work yesterday, there was an email that said, “How about if we wait until June, when baseball will be over, and then you can have the whole month?” And I just almost passed out from exasperation, because I could NOT believe this was really happening. So I sat and thought for a while, and I wondered if I shouldn’t just suck up my pride and just agree for RAM’s sake, because when it comes right down to it, that little boy means more to me than I can ever express in words. I know that if I stand my ground, and don’t do anything, Kay will likely not pursue anything further in terms of finding him another tutor, and he’ll continue to struggle. But then I feel like Kay’s led such a charmed life, and gotten her way about so many things, and I can’t reward her stupid decision-making by agreeing to YET ANOTHER of her bullshit excuses. I hated what I had to do, but I sent this:

I don’t understand this at all. I can not tutor RAM. I feel badly about this, but I have to tell you, your disregard for what’s happening here frustrates me to no end. Not only do you not care that I’m giving my time and energy to this, but it seems like you just don’t care that RAM can barely read, and fun is more important than that. Especially after we just went around about this last week. I’m sorry… but I can’t do this. Because last week you told me it would only be for baseball, and already that went out the window. What’s it going to be next month? I asked for a consistent schedule for two reasons. Because kids need consistency, and because it would challenge you to stick to something, and you can’t even give me two stupid nights a week. I’m not asking you to donate a kidney. I’m asking you to make your kid’s basic intelligence more important than whatever “comes up”.

Just because you’re getting something for free, doesn’t mean you can treat it like it has no value.

Her reply? “Well I’m sorry you feel that way.”

I’m sorry, too. Mostly because if this thing with Kay blows up and we’re not friends anymore, that means that little boy is gone, too, and that just breaks my heart.

I know that I need to make a change in my life. I know that it seems like someone in the universe (maybe it’s Xenu!) is telling me it’s time to get out of my comfort zone - whether it’s my friends, my job, or where I live - or ALL of those. I admit, I’ve spent a lot of time recently thinking about something new. About whether or not I have the guts to leave everything in my life behind and dare to try something new in a new place. But then I’ve thought that maybe I don’t have to leave California entirely to be happy. There are a lot of places in California I would love to live, but I want to live in a nice neighborhood, and if you’re not independently wealthy, that’s not easy to achieve. I’m also pretty sick of apartment living, and I think trying to have a house here is totally out of the question - unless I want to live somewhere that I’m afraid to drive alone at night, have to have bars on the windows, get woken up in the middle of the night by the police helicopter, and have to dodge the drug dealer to get to my car. I live in a crappy enough neighborhood now, I don’t want to deal with that again.

Now, I realize that you’re all thinking that the obvious choice would be for me to move to Virginia, since that’s where Scott lives. And believe me - that’s been on my mind heavily lately. But there’s a lot to consider there - aside from the fact that there’s actual WEATHER there that I would have to deal with, which I am not used to (OH MY GOD THE HUMIDITY), but there is such a huge difference between there and here. I don’t know if I’m ready to give up my California Mexican food. Or the sunsets. Or the nice movie theaters with big chairs and cup holders. And then I think about it… and it’s like, why am I so attached to a fucking burrito? I know how to cook Mexican food. How many times do I really go watch the sunset? I don’t know. I don’t know if any of this makes any sense, because I’m pretty much just typing every thought that comes into my head as I think it.

I know that the first thing I need to do is think about my next career move.

Is the position of space cowboy still open?

Have you ever felt like all the people that you thought had your back suddenly didn’t really give a shit about you anymore? Because that’s how I feel right now.

I feel totally disconnected from everything and everyone around me. I have felt for a while like my parents are too busy with my sister to notice that I’m still around, and as pathetic as I feel at 34 years old feeling like my parents love her more, the fact is, I do feel that way, and I’ve tried for years to get over it, and I just can’t. I feel like it’s something that I can’t talk to them about, because they’re so in denial about it that it would only create more trouble than already exists. I wish I could tell them that for the first time in my life, I feel like the Child From The First Marriage. I feel like the three of them are this tight little family unit, and I’m the one standing outside the bubble pushing it trying to pop the bubble, but my finger just keeps pushing further and further, and it never breaks. I wish I could ask why the parents I had aren’t the same ones that she has. I wish I could ask my mom why she’s so upset that her mother loves to my two psycho aunts more than her, when she’s doing the same thing. I wish I could ask my dad why I can’t get him to fix the broken bathroom wall in my apartment, or the broken window that drives my heating bill up (he’s my landlord, too), but my sister gets a whole new remodeled bathroom. I wish I could tell him that I cried for two hours on Saturday night because he let my sister interrupt me telling him about the shootout at Kay’s to bitch about the nascar race they were watching. And then I wish I could ask him why he would tell me that her interruption about a fucking race on television was important - and therefore more valid than me being inside a house where bullets were flying around outside.

I wish I didn’t care so much about this.

My friendship with Kay continues to be a source of frustration. We have always enjoyed a fair amount of “debate”, but for the last year or so, I don’t know what her problem is. She just lashes out and tells me (usually out of NOWHERE) whatever it is she thinks I’m doing wrong about whatever she feels like. I’ve always assumed that it was based on her own unhappiness about something, but now I’m not so sure. To be perfectly honest, I’m not so sure she likes me very much.

Kay has known for TWO YEARS that RAM’s reading is way below the level of his classmates. He is currently repeating the second grade, and his teacher recently told Kay that he’s still behind. In all of this time, they’ve done nothing beyond his time in the classroom with his teacher to improve his reading. I gave up saying anything because she just ignored me, and told me that he was “getting better” over and over.

Well, he didn’t get better, so rather than pay a tutor, Kay asked me to do it. I told her that I would gladly do whatever I could to help RAM improve his reading, as long as she agreed to the following conditions: that we have a set, consistent weekly schedule, and that she and DMX not be there when it happens. Neither of those things have happened. I told her last week when she flipped the days that I only agreed to this based on the agreement that we have a schedule. I told her if she was paying a tutor, they would tell her the same thing. She then told me it was because of his baseball, and that “school isn’t the only thing in his life. Baseball is very important.” Can you see where this is going?

Today I got an email that I would have to come tomorrow instead of today because DMX was taking RAM to a Dodgers game. Enjoy this exchange:

Kay: DMX and RAM are going with DB to a Dodgers game tonight… DMX said that he told you Friday that we would have to change your tutor with RAM to tomorrow night..

Me:No, he didn’t tell me that.

Kay: That is what DMX told me… so 6:30 tomorrow??

Me: This is frustrating. I agreed to change last week because his practice changed, but I’m not going to do this every week. Maybe I’m not the right person to do this.

Kay: What can I say he has a game that was planned for a while and I forgot to tell you and DMX says he metioned it to you Friday…?? Our life is kind of like this… things come up and we adjust.. that is just how it is. If you are unable or dont want to change the dates- then what can I say? I thank you for doing this and I want you to work with RAM- but if we have to only have one schedule and one time, then we are unable to commit to that.

Me: Well, I told you in the beginning I wanted it to be a set schedule and you agreed to that. We just discussed it last week and I told I would only change for his baseball. I’m not sure why you’re so casual about something so important - that you can’t set aside two days for a few weeks so that RAM can go into the third grade confident in his ability to read at the same level as his classmates. I’m sorry it worked out this way, but I think it would be best if you found someone who could be more flexible with your schedule.

Kay: Thanks

That’s her reply. “Thanks.”

Am I the one in the wrong here? Because seriously, I can’t even wrap my brain around the fact that they’re being so lax about their child LEARNING TO READ. Kay just doesn’t prioritize. She thinks work and school should be at the bottom of the List Of Things To Care About. And it frustrates the shit out of me. I feel like ultimately, RAM is the one who’s getting the shaft here, but I feel like if I don’t take a stand about this, Kay’s going to think it’s OK to show her kid that his education isn’t important. I thought that if I threatened to not do it anymore, she would realize that it’s not that big a deal for them to set aside two goddamn nights a week for me to read with that boy. But that didn’t work, and now we’re not talking.

I can’t WAIT to see what kind of wonderful email she’ll send me tomorrow telling me how much I don’t care about RAM for not tutoring him anymore. She’ll completely remove any blame from herself, and make me look like a jerk for daring to ask her to consider my own schedule, since I was DOING THIS FOR FREE.

I wish I knew what was going on in her head, because I just don’t understand her line of thinking.

Maybe we’re just growing apart. Maybe I’m being too judgmental about the way she lives her life. And maybe she just doesn’t like me very much anymore. I don’t know.

And, guess what else? My boss more or less told me I’ll never get away from the front desk.

My life is so awesome.

Since “W(h)ine and cheese” was the theme of the day, I took some brie, some parmesan/reggiano, some crackers and some membrillo. If you’re a snot like some people, you’re probably thinking of silly things that sound like “membrillo” because you don’t know what it is. Well, smartasses, it’s quince paste, and it compliments cheese beautifully. It is delicious. I know my cheese accoutrements, people.

Wen, I’ve decided after tasting her key lime pie before and the cake she made this time, is quite the little gourmet. She’s not just good at frying the hair of the stars. I dreamed about that cake Saturday night. It was GOOD.

I was on the 91 freeway driving home. I was in the number two lane, and I noticed the guy in the lane next to me was a little too close to my lane, so when he got over back into his lane, I sped up to get by him. As soon as my car was next to his, he swerved over into my lane, and back into his (the only descriptive explanation I can offer is when nascar drivers go side to side to get debris off their tires). I looked over at him, and he looked like he was laughing. He jerked over into my lane again, and I had to swerve over into the other lane beside me to avoid him hitting me (thank god there was no one in that lane). I got past him, and looked in my mirror to see him swerve again, and then he spun and was sideways on the freeway, causing EVERYONE around him to have to slam on their brakes, which, at 75 miles per hour, can be very dangerous. If I hadn’t sped up to get by that guy, he would have totally hit me and my little Corolla would have been flung all over that fucking freeway. That was scary. Way more scary than I was prepared for, and I was shaking for about twenty minutes after.

Good times.

I’m kind of over the near-death experiences, universe.
________________________________________

So, I watched Oprah interview my favorite scientology nutjob, and I have to say, it didn’t really reveal anything I didn’t already know - his marriage is creepy and fake, Oprah is a star-fucker who kept asking the same thing over and over and never asked Tom to go into detail about his responses, and in spite of all my opinions and all I know, I still fucking love Top Gun.

Though I am sure that movie’s not the only time Tom’s said the line, “You can ride my tail anytime.”

10. I’m sick of television shows as movies.

9. It seems a little desperate since Sarah Jessica Horseface and Cynthia Nixon are the only ones who’ve done anything since the show wrapped a million years ago.

8. All the filming photos that were all over the internet for the last few months made me tired of it already, and therefore not care.

7. I’m over the stupid wardrobe.

6. It’s only going to start even more lame “feminist” talk. Sorry - just because women sit around and talk about blowjobs and period sex doesn’t make them feminists. It kinda makes them whores. (And that’s not a bad thing, but let’s call it what it is, mmmk?)

5. Spending two hours watching Carrie Bradshaw (the least watchable and/or likeable character since Meredith Grey) is not my idea of a good time. I could handle it for a half hour. That’s it.

4. They waited too long after the show, and I don’t really care about these characters any more.

3. I’m already sick of hearing what a style icon Sarah Jessica Parker is. Her stylist is the one picking all those clothes no one else has can ever wear because they aren’t a size 000.

2. The thought of the press tour, and watching those women pretend they all like each other makes me want to gag.

1. Three words: SARAH JESSICA PARKER.

Last Friday, I was getting the kitchen ready for the employee lunch (one of the many AWESOME facets of my job) when the owner, Mr. Big Shot came in from his trip to Mexico with a guy that I’ve never seen before. (MBS loves to bring people in to see the spread that gets laid out every Friday, so everyone can tell him what a great guy he is for feeding his staff every Friday. He’d be a better boss if he brought in a fucking maid to prepare it and clean it up, I’ll tell you that.) MBS introduced all of us to him, and told us he was from Australia.

So, after lunch, I was cleaning the mess up (again, awesome), and the Australian guy started making conversation with me, and then he just said, “Well, you’re a busty old gal, aren’t ya?” I wasn’t sure what I should say at that point, so I just sort of laughed uncomfortably and mumbled some garbled form of the word, “yeah” and went back to wiping the tables off.

I’m not sure what offended me more - him commenting on my boobs so casually, or using the word “old”.

After he had left, I was talking to one of my co-workers about him. He said, “You know what he does, right?”

“Make strangers feel incredibly uncomfortable in his presence?”

“He’s a treasure hunter. He’s been on the Discovery Channel!”

“Uh, ok. I had no idea that job existed outside of pirate movies.”

“He must be pretty successful, he’s been doing it for almost 35 years.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean anything.”

“How can you say that?!”

“I’ve been dieting for almost 35 years, I wouldn’t say I was [insert air quotes] successful.”

_________________________________________________

Here’s some great news. And by “great” I of course mean “wtf this is going to ruin my whole vacation”.

My parents started going to the river about ten years ago. They go to the same place, and go four or five times a year. (The more the years and their vacation time escalates, the more they go. I suspect this is where they will live when they retire.) I’ve never gone. Because, well, I don’t like dirty water, I don’t want to get on boats and/or jet skis, and I don’t want to watch my parents fawn all over my fucking sister every five seconds like they do. I don’t want to see her get drunk and act like an asshole. My vacation days are precious to me, and I don’t want to burn them sitting in thousand-degree heat in Arizona being miserable.

That was always my excuse.

A few years ago, Kay and DMX started going, too. I still resisted, because I hate heat. It’s a million degrees by ten in the morning, and that’s just not my idea of fun.

Well, I don’t know what got into me, but I let Kay talk me into their June trip this year. Six blistering days, hoping to stay as drunk as possible and cursing the sun (think of all the awesome twitters from that trip!), and silently hating my sister and being resentful of my parents treatment of her. The only saving grace (besides ALL THE BOOZE) is that I’m staying in a rented AIR-CONDITIONED trailer with Kay, DMX, and RAM, and that it’s far enough away from my parents’ motor home that I can run away and hate them all privately.

Another selling point was that our “friends” Briton and The Bitch were going, too. This was going to be fun because a) none of us have any respect for Briton since he married The Bitch and became a giant pussy, b) we enjoy calling them by her last name because after two years of marriage, she only just revealed to us that she does not intend to ever take his name, and c) she is one of those sassy fat broads that doesn’t care about being out in an ill-fitting bathing suit in front of the whole world, and sometimes doesn’t realize that when she’s bent over in said ill-fitting suit, things are revealed that shouldn’t be. And we’re just petty enough that all of those things are entertaining.

I also thought that all those things about Briton and his wife, plus my mom’s drunkass friend Jane who ALWAYS drinks too much and makes a huge ass out of herself, as well as the possibility of some decent desert photos were good reasons.

But then… well, this morning I got this email from Kay:

I forgot to tell you that Angela called last night and now they want to come to the river… I cant tell them no…

My feelings about our friend Angela’s husband and her asshole of a kid are documented in this blog, so as you can imagine, spending my hard-earned vacation time with them is not something that sounds like very much fun to me. (At the barbecue on Saturday, while we were all in the backyard, Jack (the brat) thought it would be really funny to lock us all out of the house. When I told him that was unacceptable, he yelled in my face and then started crying, which of course, just makes me ride his ass more about every single thing he does wrong. He’s such a spoiled brat, that I almost enjoy making him cry, which I guess doesn’t make me a very nice person. But I don’t care.)

So I sent an email back to Kay telling her that I was not pleased with this latest development, and that spending my whole vacation watching Barney (the husband) eat everything he sees (including other people’s food), blow snot out of his nose on to the ground, never bathing or washing his hands, and hearing Jack cry for six straight days was not my idea of a good time. I told her that I would seriously re-think my going if I knew they were going.

She has sent me several messages to assure me that she doesn’t think they can afford to pay for the trailer right now, that the heat would be too much, etc. etc. etc. But I still think they’ll end up going, and I’m going to have to double my alcohol intake just to deal with hearing Barney call me “muffin” for all that fucking time. (I think I’ve explained muffin here. If not, you’re going to have to come up with something for yourself. Be creative!)

This should be so. much. fun.

If they do go, at least I’ll have a month’s worth of blog posts that will write themselves.

So if you find yourself with some free time June 24th - 29th, you should come, too. And save me.

PLEASE.

Yesterday, I was over at Kay and DMX’s house helping her get ready for a barbecue that they were having later in the afternoon.

DMX was cleaning up in the backyard, Kay was laying on the couch with their new puppy, and RAM was playing in his room with the little boy next door, LJ.

I went into the bathroom, and just started doing my business, when I heard about five really loud, quick gunshots. I heard Kay yell at RAM to lay down on the floor in his room, and for some reason, I was peeing more than I had ever peed in my life, because I kept hearing shots, and kept peeing more. All I could think about was there were bullets flying outside Kay’s front door and my goddamn bladder was bottomless. Finally, I walked out of the bathroom and saw Kay laying on the floor in front of her couch. I ran into RAM’s room, and saw he and LJ laying on the floor, not really having any idea what was going on. I sat down with them, and I could still hear shooting.

I’m not going to lie, people - I was fucking SCARED. I had no idea what was going on, where exactly the shooting was happening… it was a frightening sound - one that I had never heard before. I was trying to be calm, because RAM and LJ were laying there staring at me, and RAM asked me, “Are we gonna be ok, T?”

“Yeah, we’ll be alright. This will be over soon, and then everything will be alright. Everything’s alright.” I just kept saying alright over and over.

The shooting had been going on for about four minutes. I heard DMX call 911 and told the operator that the shooting had happened at the cemetery across the street. Because of LA County BULLSHIT, the cemetery is part of LA county, and not the city Kay and DMX live in, (even though THE ENTIRE SURROUNDING AREA IS NOT) so she transferred him to the 911 dispatcher that handles that. Then there was an argument about who was going to respond to the call. This is the same type of bullshit that I have to deal with where I live. It’s silly, because gang fuckers are shooting at each other with no concern whatsoever for the people that live across the street, and police departments are fighting over who’s going to answer the call. It was maddening.

After it had stopped, and no one could see cars in the cemetery anymore, LJ’s mom (who is extremely agoraphobic, and won’t even drive a car) was in tears, because about ten minutes before all of it, RAM and LJ were running around in the front yard playing, and she didn’t know they had gone inside.

As scary as it was for me, the worst part of it was having to look into that little boy’s eyes and see the fear and confusion that was going through his mind, because at eight years old, most kids (hopefully) don’t have a grasp of the kind of truly awful shit that goes on in the world, and to see him have to deal with that just broke my heart a little.

This isn’t the first time there’s been shooting at the cemetery - there are thugs buried there, so it almost seems likely that at some point rival gang assholes are going to run into each other - but it’s the first time RAM’s been there for it (me, too), and there was so much of it.

This is the cemetery. I took this picture from Kay’s front yard.

I’m so tired of this. I’m tired of all of it.

Now I’m going to leave you all with a reminder that there are still things so sweet and precious in the world that you just want to crap out a rainbow because it’s so adorable.

This is Sam, Kay and DMX’s new puppy, and I am in love.

These two recommendations are not surprisingly, of the reality genre, and surprisingly, on MTV.

The first show is Rob & Big. This show is brought to you by the same people that created the masterpiece that was Jackass. But don’t be alarmed - it’s not a bunch of skaters hopped up on meth and horse tranquilizers shoving things up their ass and putting cattle prods on their balls. It is about a skater - a tiny, white skater, and his giant black bodyguard and all the shenanigans they get into. It’s silly, it’s slapstick, and it’s 30 minutes of fun. I don’t laugh out loud at very many tv shows, but this is one I always laugh at. A magazine called it one of “the funniest shows you’re not watching”.I feel like I’m about twenty years older than their target audience, but I love it.

The second show is also on MTV, and it’s called The Paper. This is another show that, in spite of being on MTV, doesn’t make me feel skeevy when I get done watching it. It’s about a high school paper in Florida, and the new editor, Amanda - a funny, way less annoying version of Tracy Flick. It’s always interesting to see different perspectives of the high school experience - especially given that mine was so completely miserable. So far, this show is good stuff.

I am ashamed to admit that, even though I say every year I’m not watching it again, I’m watching the Real World, and as per usual, I hate every single person on the show. Awesome.

_________________________________________

Last night when I came home from work, I realized that we had a situation with Ike, and that he would need to see the vet. He had worms once a few years ago, so when I saw the poop stuck all over his ass, and the streaks on my floor, I knew that’s what it was.

I dread having to take Ike to the vet. For one, because as soon as he sees the carrier, he loses his mind and runs from me, and trying to wrangle that giant furball into that carrier is a job and a half. But I finally got him in, and headed to the vet’s office, all the while panicking about how much it was going to cost me to fix him, since I don’t really have any money currently. Usually, with one particular vet in this office, if I cry and freak out and tell him how I can’t afford stuff, he’ll take things off of the bill. He has literally saved me about two thousand dollars in the last few years. He is a gem. (Please, People Who Are Perfect, don’t take this opportunity to tell me how stupid I am for spending so much money on an animal. I don’t go to your website and tell you that you’ve OD’d on prick pills, now, have I?)

So a doctor came in, one that I hadn’t seen there before. (Where in the hell was Dr. Vasquez, dammit?) He came in, said hello, and then went to open the cat carrier. I looked at him, and warned him. “He’s pretty fiesty. He hates the vet, so he’s going to get really aggressive when you pick him up.” (Then the doctor gave me the look every single time I have a blood test and I tell the lab person that I’m a hard stick, and they look really condescending, and give me some crap about being a professional, doing it every day, blah blah blah, and then proceed to stab me ten times because GUESS WHAT I’M A HARD STICK.)

But he didn’t pick Ike up at all. He grabbed some fur, stuck him with a needle, and closed the carrier. He said, “Ok, you’re done. If you still see worms in a week, bring him back.” I was not prepared for this. Last time there was butt-shaving, anal gland-expressing, heavy sedation, etc. I was all prepared to cry and get hysterical, but I didn’t have to. But then I realized, he still had poop in all of his fur on his backside.

“Uh, but what about the poop?”

“Give him a bath.”

“Hahahahahaha.” I laughed hard. “Oh, wait - you’re serious??”

“Well, you can take him to a groomer, or leave him here and we’ll sedate him and groom him, but obviously, that’s going to cost you more.”

Shit. So I just said thank you, paid my bill (only $25, thank god) and took my stinky, pissed off cat and went home. I left him in the carrier and took him in the bathroom and shut the door. My bathroom is tiny, so there’s really nowhere for him to go, so I was confident I could probably do it. I turned on the water, grabbed the shower nozzle, and took Ike out of the carrier and put him in the bathtub. HE DID NOT LIKE THIS. He started flailing all over, meowing furiously, and looking at me like I had committed the ultimate betrayal, which of course made me feel terrible. I kept saying stupid things like, “I’m doing this for you because I love you!” and “Why are you making this so hard, don’t you realize I love you” and “Be a good boy! Be mommy’s good boy!” (Yes, I really said that. Ugh.) I was trying to hold down a giant 15-pound cat, work the shower nozzle, and put soap on a washrag all at the same time. (I assume Olay body wash is ok for a cat, but who knows. I guess we’ll find out.) There was hair everywhere, water everywhere, it was a mess. Finally, the water started to run clear, and he wasn’t going to go one more minute before he bit my face off, so I let go and he immediately jumped out of the tub. I tried to dry him off, but he wouldn’t let me.

So for the next few hours, he looked like this:

Poor kitty.

My flight there was interesting. And when I say “interesting”, I mean equal parts scary and incredibly annoying. It wasn’t scary for anyone else, because while I was silently crying inside while the plane seemed to bounce around in the sky, nobody else seemed to notice. And I decided that if the flight attendants were still serving drinks while all the commotion was going on, I probably should go ahead and calm the fuck down. (I took my usual xanax before I got on the plane, but I still had some panic at the beginning. Stupid anxiety.)

When I chose my seats, for some stupid reason, I chose an aisle seat on the flight there. Mostly because I pee a lot in the morning, and figured it would be easier on the people in my row if I was on the outside, and could just get up and go without disrupting two other people. The only thing I didn’t count on was the two skanks next to me had weaker bladders than I did, because those whores peed about half a dozen times. On a four and a half hour flight. What the hell? So I had to get up a million times. And my shoulder got hit EVERY SINGLE TIME another passenger walked down the aisle. IT WAS SO AWESOME.

There was a woman a couple of rows behind me with a toddler of maybe two or three. About mid-way through the flight, the kid started screaming. The parents were doing everything they could to calm this kid down. They gave him toys, and cookies, and let him walk up and down the aisle - they really tried. They begged the child to stop crying. There was nothing they could do short of beating him, and I felt bad for them. You know why? Because some fucking turd in the front of the plane walked right up to them and said, “Do you think you could quiet your kid down? I’m trying to relax!” Then the guy in the seat directly in front of mine turned around to stare at them, to give them The Stare Of Shame For Daring To Have A Child That Was Not Perfect And Then Taking That Child In Public.

I looked at him, and I said, “Do you think they’re enjoying that their kid has been screaming for the last hour, and having everyone stare at them? Do you think they love that every single person on this plane knows that THEIR KID is the one causing a commotion? ‘Cause I’m guessing probably not.” He looked at me, and was just about to say something I would assume was going to be rude and insulting, but the flight attendant came and asked him to turn around, and to “please understand” about the crying. Ass.

Don’t get me wrong - I didn’t love hearing a kid scream, but thanks to a) the earbuds I was using to watch TV, and b) years working in daycare teaching me to tune ANY noise out, I wasn’t really bothered by it. I just couldn’t believe how blatantly rude people were being to the parents, as if they could just mute the kid if they wanted to.

People are so stupid.